16 November 2009 8:43 AM

Saturday afternoon exposed what Johnson's England and Dunga's Brazil don't have in common

There is a classic Monty Python sketch in which some poor fool, irritated by a line of questioning, cries out, 'I didn't expect the Spanish Inquisition' — at which point the Spanish Inquisition (or Michael Palin's version there of) jump out shouting, 'Nobody expects the Spanish Inquisition.'

You could see the absurd scene unravelling at Martin Johnson's post-match press conference on Saturday. Three questions in and the England manager's infamous eyebrows said it all, burrowed into such an intense, low frown they almost made a beard. 'I didn't expect the Argentinian Inquisition,' his brow screamed. And how he could have done with Palin's interruption.

But the Monty Python link doesn't end there; a 'flying circus' is a perfect description of England's aerial obsession. The team were kitted out for a purple patch, but they played like purple plonkers. Before kick-off this weekend, the squad should swap flashy boots for over-sized clown shoes and scrum hats for colourful wigs. If they get the All Blacks giggling during the Haka, they might even have a chance.

How the Twickenham crowd could have done with a couple of Python sketches at half-time on Saturday when there wasn't a smile in the house. Just a lot of booing. The self-proclaimed 'fortress' is now an embarrassing label for the stadium. At least the Twickenham 'big top' would fit this weekend's circus theme nicely.

Three thousand, two hundred and fifty miles away on the same afternoon, Fabio Capello's second team faced five-time World Cup winners Brazil in Doha. A Brazil side led by Carlos Caetano Bledorn Verri — or Dunga to everyone except his passport.

Dunga is a World Cup-winner who defined an era of football for his nation as a thuggish brute who set a style of play for the team; a practical, no-nonsense operator at the reins of a high-achieving national team going through a temporary identity crisis; a playing legend who has been hounded and lambasted by his national press for the style he has inflicted on his side; a man who had no professional coaching experience prior to being appointed the coach of his national team. Sound familiar?

The similarities between Martin Johnson and Dunga end there. Dunga's Brazil play with precision. Dunga's Brazil enter the park and execute a gameplan. Dunga occasionally smiles. Dunga has unearthed relatively unknown talents through choice and faith, not because the first, second and third-pick were stuck in a sling.

The Brazilian people are understandably and commendably proud of their football heritage, of the style and flavour of their national side. For the people of Brazil, the magicians in yellow should not simply achieve victory, they should do so by entertaining the crowd and mesmerising the opposition. In the favelas of Sao Paulo, the beautiful game is an artform, not a sport.

Dunga has added substance to that style. He has harnessed the class and added cojones. No player is bigger than the team, no individual's tricks greater than the team's performance. There is no space for the two Ronnies in his camp, no room for such ego.

The result? Brazil are back at number one in the charts. What a difference a Dunga makes. They will go into next year's World Cup as clear favourites for bookies and pundits alike. Dunga has not starved them of flair and experimentation, they still attempt, and often achieve, the terrifyingly impressive on a football pitch, but they do so in moderation. They do so with measure. As such, they have become harder to beat. There was something imperious about Brazil on Saturday night.

Admittedly Capello only had a second-string side available (while Johnson probably dreams of fielding a second-string side) but Dunga's destroyers effortlessly went about their business. Not spectacular and soft, but eye-catching and effective.

The brainless morons must take their share of the blame too. This week's video analysis ain't gonna be fun at Pennyhill Park for the England squad. But, at the same time, Johnson must stop treating every challenging question, every critic who dares doubt him, with tangible contempt. He is a coach now and as a coach he must be judged. His playing career means nothing while he is sat in the stands.

Dunga has an immense amount of talent at his disposal, from a race of people who can probably dribble a football before they can crawl. England are not the Brazilians of football. Even when number one in the world, that winning momentum was based on percentage rugby. But where Dunga can be credited, and where Johnson has so far failed, is with applying a workable system to the ranks. Dunga's side have an identity, they play with a purpose. They may occasionally fail in the execution of a plan, but they are following a blue print. They have a map.

Johnson, meanwhile, seems completely lost but too stubborn to ask for directions.

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